


Closer

by DoreyG



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Arguing, Breathplay, Coitus Interruptus, First Kiss, M/M, Making Out, Mid-Canon, Rough Kissing, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 20:57:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17753390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoreyG/pseuds/DoreyG
Summary: "You are annoying me," Solas says, through gritted teeth.





	Closer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wednesday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wednesday/gifts).



"You are annoying me," Solas says, through gritted teeth.

"I need to annoy somebody at least once a day or I'll _die_. It's an unfortunate affliction, diagnosed by multiple mages," he says, perfectly innocently, and smirks as Solas' jaw only sets more firmly. "I honestly didn't mean to this time, though. I was only asking a _question_ , Solas."

"If I know you, as by this point I unfortunately do, then it was one meant to be deliberately provoking," Solas snaps, and crosses his arms over his chest. He never has a soft face, even at the best of times, but now his expression is sharp enough to cut. "I've already indicated my reluctance to discuss spirits with you."

"Because I'm Tevinter?" He asks, narrowing his eyes.

" _Because_ you're Tevinter, and because of the toxic Tevinter attitudes that you've already proven yourself to hold." Solas glares at him, strides an angry step closer. The passion in his eyes is suddenly, unexpectedly, interesting to him. "Spirits are not servants, not _slaves_ , and to think anything of the sort is offensive. They are my _friends_ , Dorian, and I will not have them belittled in such a way."

"Who said anything about belittling?" He sniffs, slightly offended despite himself. He's got a thick enough skin, you have to form callouses when you've lived his sort of life, but Solas' unapologetic edges have a way of cutting right through it. "What if I simply wanted to know more? Avail myself of all available information in that way that you're supposed to like so very much?"

"There is a right way of availing and a wrong way of availing," Solas informs him, with a scornful glance that stabs right at his temper. "I am no fool, I already know very well which one you tend towards."

"That's-!" He's never been the type to scream and yell, has been taught from an early age that covering his vulnerabilities with charm and flash is the far more sensible option. But suddenly he feels provoked, finds himself stepping right up into Solas' space with firmly gritted teeth. "You're being unfair to me. More than that, my dear, you're being _exactly_ what you accuse me of."

Solas' eyes snap to him, a steadily building rage in the depths of them. He's finally got to the bastard, as he gets to everybody in the end. _Good_. "What do you mean?"

"'There is a right way of availing and a wrong way of availing'," he mimics, deliberately using a high pitched voice to make Solas' eyes narrow all the further. "And I think we both know that you tend exactly the same way as me. You talk so much about being open, about questioning everything, but in the end you're just the same as the rest of us. Hidebound, conventional, unwilling to look beyond the end of your own nose."

"You-!"

He doesn't know what he was expecting, in his experience any reaction from being punched in the face to provoking heartfelt tears is possible, but for once it wasn't what actually happens. Suddenly Solas' hand closes around his throat, iron hard, and he finds himself being pushed violently backwards. His back hits Solas' desk, and suddenly a furious elf is leaning over him and pressing him down so hard that he can hardly breathe.

"You are irritating, and idiotic, and offensive in the _extreme_ ," Solas hisses, and suddenly he finds himself intimately aware of just how close the man is. "You know nothing about me, and to assume that you have the slightest idea is to vastly overestimate your abilities. How _dare_ you come in here, and ask me about spirits? How _dare_ you force yourself into my presence and demand my valuable time? How _dare_ you assume-?"

He makes an entirely involuntary choking noise, only narrowly stopping himself from arching up in search of more friction, and Solas stops dead mid-sentence. It's odd, but he doesn't think he's ever seen the man look _shocked_ before. No matter what happens, no matter what fresh insanity the Inquisitor bursts frantically in with on a daily basis, he seems always the coolest of them.

Now, though... Now he's rattled.

He makes another choking noise, a slightly more pointed one, and Solas considers for a visible second and then carefully eases some of the pressure. Not all of it though, he notes with some relief as he draws in a stuttering breath, the man's hand still remains closed around his throat in a velvet threat. "What... _Gah_. What do I assume?"

"That we are anything alike, in most ways," Solas answers, almost absently. A new light has entered his eyes now, a new heat that he _really_ should want to run away from. "That we have anything, at least anything of true meaning, in common... Besides our tendencies, of course."

They stare at each other for a long second, measuring each other up.

The next moment Solas clenches his hand around his throat, hard enough that that his vision goes dim, and he yanks Solas even more firmly down over his body. Their lips meet, he feels a sharp stab of pain as Solas' teeth dig into his flesh, and this time he doesn't restrain himself from arching his hips desperately up in search of friction. His back hits the edge of the desk again, and they slam down on top of it in a state of utter distraction.

He's not used to it going this well, when people get angry at him. Usually there's just tiresome yelling, or even more tiresome attempts to put a fist in his face. This time there's only the clench of Solas' hand, effortlessly firm around his throat. The taste of Solas' lips, strangely metallic and ferocious over his. The feel of Solas' body, so slim and elegant looking but dominating him without the slightest bit of effort.

Solas seems equally surprised, and equally pleased about it. He takes him apart with effortless ease, flays him to the bone with the kind of steady focus that he's always found foolishly annoying before. Solas' fingers are firm, his tongue is casually invasive, his cock is obviously hard where it presses against his thigh through his clothes. Solas almost, as far as he can tell considering his current state of distraction, seems to be _gleeful_ about this.

He never, he thinks somewhat dazedly as Solas bends him even further back in an effortless show of strength, thought that _this_ would happen. Fucking somebody in the Inquisition seemed off the table from the beginning, let alone _Solas_. Arrogant, scornful, spirit obsessed Solas. Domineering, put-together, smirking Solas. Hard, warm, obviously aroused Solas. _Solas_ -

Who is breaking from the kiss, the wonderfully unexpected kiss, with the faintest frown. Tilting his head towards the doorway, as if listening... And then taking a few quick steps away from the desk, straightening his clothes and picking up a book in a surprisingly smooth movement.

He blinks for a second, still rather caught up in the lingering feel of Solas' hand around his throat, and then just about has the presence of mind to slide off the desk and spin around to pretend to dig through some papers. In the next moment _he_ hears the footsteps, and the sound of Leliana clearing her throat as she enters the room.

"Ah, Leliana!" Solas says, sounding just as composed as ever. He smiles to himself, as he keeps casually rifling through the papers on the desk, and then winces as his bitten lip pulls. "To who do we owe this pleasure?"

"As ever, Solas, the Inquisitor. Who seems determined to explore as much of Thedas as possible," Leliana says, not sounding particularly suspicious. He feels her eyes on his back, and makes sure to shuffle the papers extra loudly in response. "Dorian, I was asked to tell you that you'll be heading out again in about an hour. I trust you're still packed from last time?"

"My darling Leliana," he says, and is pleased when his voice comes out as a good approximation of his usual purr. "You should know me by now. I am _always_ prepared."

She snorts at him, but in what he suspects is a fond way. She doesn't hang around for long after that, vanishing as quickly as a shadow. He wonders, absently, if she knew exactly what they were doing. It seems, considering her general level of skill, entirely likely.

He shuffles through the papers a little more, just to be obnoxious, until he hears Solas sigh. The next moment a hand clamps around his wrist, holding it against the table firmly. "Do you really have to keep going through my things?"

"It's another unfortunate condition," he says to the table, and then decides to be as reckless as ever and turns to meet Solas' gaze. "Unless I invade somebody's privacy, oh, at least once a week-"

"You have a surprising amount of ailments, for one so young. One wonders if you should be allowed out at all." Solas studies him for a moment, thoughtful, and then gives a faintly cruel looking smirk. His free hand rises slowly, hypnotically so, and traces over his Adam's apple with the lightest touch. "When you get back, from wherever you're going-"

"Yes," he says instantly, so fast that he almost surprises himself. "I mean... Uh, to most things. I'm very easy to please, though that might come as a surprise to you. Just do whatever you want, and I'm sure I'll be able to figure it out."

"Really?" Solas asks, seeming intrigued, and then seems to shake himself. He removes his hand slowly, trailing his fingers all the way. Takes another step back, and leads back against the corner of his desk. "How unexpectedly interesting. When you get back, from whatever bear infested bog the Inquisitor explores next, I look forward to exploring just how far you'll go."

He's not, he realises incredulously as he slowly drags himself up to his feet, the only one.


End file.
